


Surrender

by devovere



Series: Intimacies [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst and Feels, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: Kathryn and Chakotay enter emotionally-fraught territory when Kathryn is hard on herself. The bathtub makes it all better, though.





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Immediately follows “Unknowns,” the previous story in this series. 
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to beta-readers Killermanatee, who massaged my angst into just the right degree of quivering jelly, and Klugtiger, who provided thought-provoking commentary on throes and loss in between Fixing All the Commas.

As Kathryn and Chakotay strolled down to the river, they discussed their gardening plans. They knew they couldn’t rely forever on the replicator, and foraging carried its own risks in an unfamiliar ecosystem. 

Kathryn inquired about Chakotay’s crop research. He told her about the nutritional completeness of the Three Sisters, the traditional New World diet of corn, beans, and winter squash in temperate zones much like the one they now inhabited. These staples grown in combination would also help maintain the soil’s fertility and maximize nutrient output with minimal labor. 

“I love a good tomato when corn is in season, though,” Kathryn reminisced. 

“Oh, we can definitely grow tomatoes, too. Or whatever passes for them on Talax. Neelix’s seeds are in our stasis units.” 

“Would there be any way to protect our garden from wind damage? If we get more plasma storms…” She drew her hand away from his unconsciously, thinking not only of cornstalks and tomato cages but of their own bodies, huddled under that table. 

Unbidden, a new worry rose to her mind:  _ What if he’s the one caught out in the open next time? What if I’m left alone here? _

With a shake of the head, she forced her thoughts back to the present. 

Chakotay was talking about food preservation techniques, suggesting they could construct underground shelters to keep their stores, and themselves, safe from high winds and debris. “ _ Voyager _ put us on land well above the water table. With the shuttle’s power, we can dig quite deep and build reinforced underground walls in a matter of a few days. We’ll be better prepared next time.” His voice was reassuring. 

Thoughts of damp soil triggered a memory. “What about mushrooms? Can they be cultivated here?” 

“The variety we have should do well here, in shade. Why do you ask?” 

“You mentioned once how much you like mushroom soup.” He had, back on the planet where they’d found the human colony including Amelia Earhart. They’d briefly discussed the things they each missed about planet life, when it looked possible they might be forced to make their home there, if enough of their crew chose to stay. He’d mentioned the soup with a regret that seemed like more than nostalgia, and she’d wondered if all his memories of home were forever tainted now by the immense trauma of the Cardassian attack on his people. 

She thought, too late, that she may have erred in bringing up that memory now, but he only smiled, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close to his side as they strolled together. 

But she swallowed and felt herself stiffen slightly. 

This new closeness, so appealing just minutes ago, was now throwing her off balance. Her feelings were all over the map, from being drawn to him for physical comfort in ways she’d never permitted herself before, to anxiety at the thought of losing him, to trepidation at what parts of his past were newly open for discussion. He seemed so calm, so comfortable with this intimacy between them. Meanwhile, everything was a swirl in her head. 

As they approached the riverbank, Kathryn suddenly regretted her impulsive decision to go without a bathing suit. She knew intellectually that it was a bit late to be worried about modesty, but the thought of stripping in front of Chakotay, outdoors and in broad daylight, felt strange in a way she couldn’t put words to. 

Ordinarily she would disregard something as trivial as this feeling of hesitancy, but her discomfort at the thought of exposing herself in this way only grew more intense as she saw him beginning to undress, and she knew she either had to stop him or find an excuse to return to the shelter. 

=====

Chakotay already had his shirt unbuttoned in preparation for shrugging it off his shoulders when Kathryn touched her fingers to his and met his eyes silently. 

He paused, held her gaze, and waited. 

She licked her lips, and for once it made her look nervous instead of sensual. “Can we talk first?” 

They had  _ been _ talking, all the way down to the river, but perhaps that wasn’t the kind of talking she meant now. 

“Of course,” he replied, giving her fingers a squeeze. He refastened his buttons and led her to a shaded grassy spot under a nearby tree. He sat first, letting her decide whether and where to sit. She stood, looking down at him, paced a few steps away, then turned around and came back. Finally she sat, facing him, just out of arm’s reach, and hugged her knees to her chest. 

“Last night, I scared myself a little,” she blurted, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” 

“No,” he immediately responded, in a calm and certain voice. “Things got very … intense. I was overwhelmed too.” 

She studied his face, her gaze moving back and forth between his eyes. “When we were talking about your tattoo?” 

“Yes, but not only then.” He longed to reach for her, to soothe her fear with a gentle touch. “Can you tell me what scared you?” 

She took a deep breath. “I can try to,” she began. 

He waited, holding as still as he could in his desire to avoid interrupting her thought process. He had the sudden impression of Kathryn as a wild animal, shy and tentative, ready to spring to her feet and flee at the first hint of aggression from him. He willed his very heart rate to slow down, wanting to give her space to relax again with him. 

“It’s ridiculous,” she repeated firmly. He bit his tongue against the impulse to contradict her. 

“I’m no blushing virgin, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she went on. 

He felt compelled to put her mind to rest on that score. “I wasn’t thinking that.” Then before he could stop himself: “And whatever you’re feeling, it’s not ridiculous. I promise. It’s just me, Kathryn. Can you talk to me like your friend for a minute?” 

Her face crumpled into something between a smile and a frown. “That’s just the problem, Chakotay. I would never discuss this with you as a friend. It’s so … private. We are suddenly so  _ private _ together, and there are things I think I need to tell you but I don’t know how to say them.” 

_ Who were her friends in the Alpha Quadrant? _ He suddenly wondered. He’d always assumed close women friends, at least, would discuss every aspect of their intimate relationships; was she saying she’d never had a friendship like that? Or was it his gender that was the obstacle? They had become close on  _ Voyager _ , far beyond what the typical captain and first officer working relationship required, but had it been close enough for this?

“I don’t want to lead the conversation, but would it help you talk if I ask you some questions about last night?” he offered, tentatively. 

“Maybe,” she conceded. 

“Okay. Can we start with the scratches on my back, and how you felt when you saw them?” 

She blushed deeply. “Sure,” she breathed, closing her eyes. “Let’s dive right in, then. I’m … embarrassed that I overreacted so badly and worried you. I’m not squeamish; it wasn’t the blood. It was realizing that I’d hurt you without knowing it. I had no idea I’d done it. I had no idea I was even capable of doing it. I lost control and didn’t even realize how far I’d crossed that line until I saw your back.” 

She stopped talking, reluctant to meet his eyes. 

“What line, Kathryn?” he asked gently. 

“What?” Her eyes snapped to his face, startled. 

“What line did you cross?” he clarified. 

She was clearly baffled by his question. “The line between being in control of myself and -- not!” 

He thought for a moment, trying to figure out the safest way to proceed. Tugging one ear, he finally said, “Well … they don’t call it ‘the throes of passion’ for nothing, right? If a person can’t lose control  _ then _ , well, when can they?” 

She huffed out an embarrassed half-laugh. “Yes, I see your point, but … that was -- what? -- throes number  _ five _ by then, wasn’t it? And not my first evening of  _ throes _ , for that matter. But it never happened to me before then. I didn’t think it  _ could _ happen to me, not that way.” 

He studied her carefully, still itching to take her hand but recognizing that she wasn’t going to accept his comfort right now. Her iron self-control had failed her, and now she doubted its reliability and was reluctant to enter emotional territory that might threaten it. 

He wanted to show her he was hearing what she was saying. “It sounds like you were shocked to realize just how much of your self-control you’d let go of, that one time at least.” She nodded yes. “Does that mean you were uncomfortable with what we were doing, that time? Did I push you too hard in some way?” 

“At the time -- no, I didn’t want to stop; I was completely swept up in everything. But I’m not altogether sure I liked it, either. I know that doesn’t make sense -- how can both those things be true at once? It felt amazing. You made me feel …  _ amazing _ . Indescribably good. But -- loss of control is a big step for me.” 

He let her words hang between them. He wanted to reassure her, to change her mind. He  _ wanted _ to make her lose control like that again, repeatedly, at every opportunity. 

Instead he mastered his ego, with difficulty. “I think I understand, Kathryn. This sense of losing versus being in control is a boundary for you, and I want to respect your boundaries, just as you respect mine.” He gestured towards his tattoo. 

Kathryn blinked at him. “Oh,” she said faintly. 

He sent her a questioning look. “Did I say something unexpected?” 

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his tattoo. “I … never thought of it that way.” 

“What way?” 

She made a half-impatient, half-laughing gesture towards him, towards herself. “Boundaries. Respect. I’ve always thought of my control issues as a … kind of a hang-up in relationships. Mark always said --” She broke off there, going quite pale. 

After a moment, she put her face in her hands. “Shit,” she said softly. “Shit.” 

“Kathryn?” he asked, worried by her abrupt transformation. 

“I just now thought of him. I didn’t think of him until now. Not since …  _ Shit! _ ” she swore. 

Then she looked straight into Chakotay’s eyes and pronounced, “I am a terrible person.” She stood up stiffly and began to walk away -- not towards the river nor towards the shelter, just …  _ away _ . 

He went after her, ignoring the protest of his sore back, and caught up to her in half a dozen strides. “You’re not, Kathryn. Not a terrible person. Please.” She kept walking. “ _ Please! _ ” he exclaimed. “Please stop and talk to me -- please  _ trust me to help you, damn it! _ ” 

She whirled to face him as suddenly as she had bolted a minute earlier. “It’s not you I don’t trust, Chakotay. It’s me. And you can’t help me with this.” Her voice was shaking, as if with anger. 

“Try me,” he said, arms folded stubbornly across his chest. 

“Fine,” she retorted. “I  _ knowingly and deliberately _ kept you at arm’s length, sometimes  _ cruelly _ , for almost  _ two years _ , because I’m engaged to be married to a man I’ve known since childhood. We’ve been stranded on this planet for six weeks now and getting back to him was my second biggest reason for working so hard to find the cure that would let us leave.” She glared at him, stark and pale and absolutely ruthless in her self-condemnation. 

“And the minute the plasma storm ended yesterday morning and I realized we’d never leave this planet … he flew out of my mind! I literally didn’t think of him from that moment until this. How’s that for commitment? For  _ love _ ?” she snarled. “He’s a good man. He deserved better than to be my … my coward’s excuse for a safety net, a wall I threw up to keep you away until it was  _ convenient _ for me to --” 

She broke off, her fist over her mouth, unwilling to say the words, whatever they were.  _ To love you? _ He wondered.  _ To fuck you? _ He unfolded his arms and stood before her, feeling helpless. 

“Why are you so hard on yourself, Kathryn?” he asked softly, almost to himself. “Who told you that you had to be perfect to deserve happiness?” 

He might have skewered her with a  _ bat’leth _ and had less of an impact. The breath left her body in a jolt, as if he’d struck her broadside. Mouth hanging open as if in utter shock, she turned from him and walked towards the shelter. He didn’t say anything, but she raised the back of her hand in a gesture that unmistakably said  _ Leave me alone _ . He let her go. 

He spent what remained of the afternoon at the river, bathing, meditating, and finally foraging for berries. He hoped that giving her space and time, as requested, would set things right. He wanted her to be sure of finding him, if she needed him, so he stayed within calling distance of the spot where she’d walked away from him. The berries were his peace offering, for pushing so hard on a vulnerable spot that she’d been forced to break away, step back. 

He returned to the shelter at dusk and, as he approached, was intrigued by the aroma of cooked food. He reached the doorway and paused. Kathryn, cleaned up and hair loose, wore the dress she couldn’t have known was his favorite, the one two shades of blue lighter than her eyes. She stood barefoot at the counter, doing something with replicated salad greens. The table was laid for two, and candles burned in its center. As his gaze swept the shelter, he saw what else she had done and froze, stunned. 

The partitions on their sleeping spaces were gone. Their two narrow beds were both in the space that had been his room; she had dragged hers to meet his and must have attached the frames somehow, for it was made up now as a double bed. 

Her gesture spoke volumes, and he understood it all at once. She was opening herself to him, coming to him, joining with him. This had taken time and effort and could not be undone quickly or on a whim. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he closed his eyes, filled with gratitude and awed by her courage. 

He opened them to find her standing at the table looking at him. 

“Wow,” he said. 

“Good wow?” she asked, cocking her head in a tentative gesture. 

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “Really good.” 

She smiled. “Come and eat.” 

=====

Neither said much during their meal. It was enough to be together in peace and candlelight, within the newly open space of their home. 

When he raised the first spoonful to his mouth, a simple rice pilaf, seasoned and simmered, she said with a note of apology, “It isn’t mushroom soup.” 

He held her gaze, smiling a little, and said, “We have time.” 

She looked down, flushing at the memories those words evoked of the night before, and then smiling a bit sadly. “That we do,” she said quietly. 

When they were finished eating, he rose to clean up. He took a dish from her hands and said, “I’ll take care of this. Go and have your bath.” It was their routine, every night since he’d given her the bathtub. He wanted her to continue having that time and that small pleasure to herself. 

She smiled again, still a small and somewhat sad smile, collected her towel and other bath things, and went out to fill the tub. 

A few minutes later, he was rinsing the berries for their evening snack when she spoke his name.  Her voice was firm and much nearer than he’d expected. He looked around to find her standing in the doorway, still in her blue dress, arms by her side. He could hear the water running into the tub. He went to her and touched her hair. 

“Bring the berries,” she said, and then turned and left. He picked up the bowl and followed. 

She waited for him on the platform beside the tub. As he approached, she pulled her dress off in a single, simple gesture and stood before him naked. He almost dropped the berries. She chuckled, reached for his hand, and pulled him unresisting onto the platform. She set the bowl beside the tub and then undressed him, with economy of motion, one garment at a time, until he too was naked. He supported her as she climbed into the tub and settled against one end. With a silent gesture, she invited him to occupy the other end. 

This was his first time in her bathtub, not counting how he’d occupied the space as he carved, smoothed, and polished it. He certainly didn’t count it. This had barely been a dream then. He kept carefully to his end, his knees up and feet almost under him, not wanting to presume, respecting her domain. But beneath the water, she extended her feet to hook them around his legs and gently but firmly drew them towards her. 

They sat like that for a minute, tangled at the ankles, breathing in the steam and warmth. The hot water was doing wonders for the ache in his back. His arms rested with deceptive casualness on the sides of the wooden tub; Kathryn’s were immersed in the water, swaying slightly along her sides as she breathed. After a time, she leaned forward to grasp one of his ankles, and lifted it up and onto her naked lap. He twitched and swallowed at the feel of her bare belly and thighs, the curls where they met. His one foot suddenly took on all the sensitivity of a hand, or a mouth. He closed his eyes, then jerked them wide open as she pressed both thumbs into his arch and began to massage his foot. 

Kathryn was gazing deeply into his eyes, her face somber and open. “I owe you an apology, Chakotay, for my behavior this afternoon.” 

He shook his head but she ignored him and kept talking, kept rubbing his foot, her slim strong fingers digging into pressure points, sending sparks of sensation up his calf. 

“All you are is good to me. You only ever treat me well. I have a bad habit of feeling guilty when others take care of me. I’m going to try to change that. Will you help me change?” 

“Kathryn,” he began, but his voice caught in his throat as she slid her joined hands up his calf, kneading, releasing tension. “Unnngggghhh,” was all he could manage, his eyes nearly rolling up in his head at the sensations she was producing. 

She seemed to take it as a yes. She set the one foot down, tucking it next to her hip so that her bent leg was pressed along the inside of his. He couldn’t ignore then how close her feet were to the center of his own desire, nor how hard he’d gotten during her ministrations. But she was speaking again, her eyes still fixed on his face as she claimed his other foot and continued reducing him to quivering, lustful jelly. 

“You asked me a very good question, earlier. You wanted to know why I’m so hard on myself. It made me angry at first, because I have never felt that I  _ am _ hard on myself; I’m just doing what I should, or striving to improve. But I thought about it all afternoon. And do you know what I decided?” 

By now he was in near-ecstasy from her ceaselessly dextrous manipulation of every nerve ending in his foot and the hypnotic effect of her steady gaze and voice. She seemed to recognize that he wasn’t capable of speech, and answered her own question. 

“I decided, Chakotay, that you have never yet steered me wrong. I trust you with my life; I trusted you with my ship and our crew. Why wouldn’t I trust you now, in this? Hmm?” 

He was just letting her words flow past him now, floating in a mental state not unlike the warm, pleasantly-scented bath water that surrounded his body. No verbal response was apparently the correct one, for Kathryn merely chuckled fondly and continued speaking. 

“Well, I can tell you why. This may come as something of a surprise, Chakotay, but I can be very stubborn.” 

At that, and as her small firm hands laid waste to every hint of tension in his calf, he began to laugh. He continued, filled with delight, loose in nearly all his body from the hot water and her hands, overflowing with love for her and joy for their being together like this. The good feeling must have been contagious, for finally, she joined his laughter, placing his foot beside her other hip, and then, with her hands on top of his bent knees, rising up on her own knees, lifting her breasts and rib cage above the water, where they glistened as her laughing shook them. 

He brought his hands to her arms, stroking down and up, down and up, and they calmed, growing serious as they gazed at one another. 

“So,” she said, as if they hadn’t just spent minutes on end laughing together and then staring rapt at each other. “About my control issues.” 

His hands stilled on her arms. “I don’t want to change you, Kathryn. I just want to help you be happy.” 

She closed her eyes as a look of real pain crossed her face. “Mark told me the same thing. It’s such a gift … and a kind of burden, too.” 

He squeezed her arms, just above the elbow, and then relaxed his grip. “Will you tell me what else Mark said?” At her blank look, he reminded her. “By the river. You talked about control as a hang-up in your relationships, and that Mark always said … but then you didn’t finish that thought.” 

“Oh.” Her face was sad, remembering. She lowered herself back into the water, still between his legs, sitting on her heels. “He always said that I couldn't be happy if I wasn't in command.” At his frown, she clarified. “It was teasing, not criticism. He liked that about me, liked me to … take charge. But now I guess the joke really is on me.” 

“How so?” 

“I'm not in command of anything now. Not even myself, apparently.” 

“Me,” he offered, straight from his heart. 

She gave him a strange look. “No, Chakotay. Even on  _ Voyager  _ \-- you followed me, but I was never in command of you. I thought you knew that.” 

These words spoken between them held a molten heat and were charged with a kind of soul-deep truth that went to his very marrow. She seemed to feel it too. A hunger showed itself in her eyes, and he watched her breathing hasten the rise and fall of her breasts. His own breath caught with wanting her, needing her. 

Her grip on his knees grew more tense. “I want us to make love, but I don’t want to lose control again. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Can you accept that?” 

“Yes, of course. I’ll respect that boundary however I can. Tell me if we get too close to it.” As he pulled her close, he made a mental note to be proactive, to check in with her if things grew intense again. 

=====

After their first kiss, which Chakotay initiated, Kathryn took the lead. She knelt on his thighs, elbows on his shoulders, so that he had to tilt his head back almost horizontal to see her face above him. She ran her fingers into his cropped hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp, and sank down into another kiss, deep and slow, her tongue tracing his teeth, then sucking and gnawing on his gorgeous lower lip, her breasts barely brushing his collarbone. 

His hands came to her waist, not moving her anywhere, just resting where her hips curved out, as if he needed something to hold on to while she kissed him into oblivion. 

She ended the kiss gently, tenderly, sighing against his mouth with pleasure. He moaned quietly and drew his lips along her jawline, then softly, softly down her neck. 

“Yes,” she breathed, and straightened her torso, pulling back slightly from him to bring her breasts closer to his face. He was quick to take advantage, sliding his hands up her sides and finding a nipple with his mouth. He tongued it, then drew it between his lips, just enough suction to hold it in until she squirmed and pressed against him, seeking more. 

As she plastered the length of her torso against his, knees slipping alongside his hips, his hard cock nudged her mons and was pressed between their bodies. Sensation flowed like lava from her breast, where his wicked, clever tongue scraped a beguiling rhythm along her sensitive nipple, down through her to her swelling, pulsing sex. 

She felt an ache deep inside that was equal parts bruising memory and imminent desire. “Ohhhh,” she rasped, and shifted his head to her other breast. “Please, I want you,” she panted in a rush. 

Without replying or interrupting his attentions to her upper body, he brought one hand down the side of her body again, not stopping at her waist but sliding past it to stroke and knead one buttock. Then his fingers brushed lightly over her cleft, seeking, seeking, asking in the gentlest of touches if he was welcome there, in her most intimate of places. She arched her lower back, moving just within his reach, and then gasped as he made contact, sliding gently over and then through her folds. 

They seemed to float against one another in warm wetness and rising sensation. He was apparently in no hurry to do anything more than stroke her there, suck her here, even though he stayed rigid against her lower belly. His only other sign of tension or need was that his other hand began to rub circles against her back, a massage that grew deeper, more intense, even though nothing changed in the pressure or pattern of his lower hand. 

She broke free of his mouth and then bent to kiss it. She was panting, shaking from the effort of staying still under the workings of his two hands. “I want you,” she said again, and her voice held a new urgency. 

He began to press forward towards her clit, but she was suddenly impatient. “Help me,” she muttered, and raised her body to trap his penis between her legs. He understood. With his thumb pressed behind her entrance, he used his fingers to guide his cock until it rested against her opening. 

Her palms rested on his shoulders for stability. As she eased herself onto him, her grip tightened, and he suddenly brought his other hand from her back to her head, holding her in place to meet his eyes. He was studying her face attentively as she gradually moved lower. She felt a twinge and must have winced, for he said, “Easy, Kathryn. No rush.” She backed off slightly, and then nodded. 

“I’m sorry. I want you but I’m sore, too.” 

In answer, he drew his lower hand up, around her hip, and back down in between their bodies. Still holding her gaze with his, he said, “Let me? I’ll go gentle. You can stop me.” She nodded again. 

Working his hand further down, he slid two fingers on either side of his cock, where it barely penetrated her body, and began a light, loving massage of her tender tissues there. Rotating his wrist slightly, he brought the side of his thumb to her clit and just held it there as his fingers worked. It was such a  _ slow  _ touch, easing more than stimulating, but deep enough to rouse her rather than tickle or tease. Her breath quickened and her toes curled against his thighs. 

“Oh yes, oh yesss,” she began to chant, and almost without conscious effort she was rocking against him in a steady downward motion, sinking more deeply onto his cock, and the pressure of his thumb increased and then it was moving as well, circles across her clit with increasing speed. 

She reached an easy crest of pleasure and spasmed around him as he filled her completely. Her climax was almost silent, a half-swallowed “Ahhhh!” as her throat tightened along with her cunt. He held her gaze throughout, barely moving any part of himself save his hand, that steady motion of his thumb. 

She felt herself being drawn back up the slope towards ecstasy but it was too soon. She didn’t want to be driven along blindly as she had been last night. She wanted to be in control. She couldn’t speak and somehow couldn’t look away from his eyes but moved a hand to his elbow, pressing it away until his hand left off its veneration and rose to claim a breast. 

Then, staring deeply, defiantly into his eyes, she began to make love to his cock with her body, rising and falling, squeezing and releasing, rocking, floating, hovering, then plunging onto him, again, again, again. Her hands gripped the solid sides of his head and his hands gripped her in return, one at a breast and the other at a hip as his face suffused with need and pleasure and speechless, expressive adoration of her. His hips began to thrust up to meet her as his eyes made a wordless apology, a prayer that he wasn’t hurting her. She shook off his concern and just fucked him all the harder. 

Their eyes stayed locked together, something deep within their beings memorizing this mating dance, this sinuous, serpentine ritual of joining. 

“Kathryn,” he suddenly said in a tone of warning. “Kathryn, please. I can’t -- “ He gasped once, drawing breath loudly, then scrunched his eyes closed and drove his forehead into her chest, choking and moaning through his release, pleasure so intense it looked and sounded like suffering. 

At that moment, Kathryn discovered her mistake. In her dogged determination to keep control of her mind and body this time, she’d quite forgotten to guard her heart. And so, as Chakotay’s essence spilled into her, as his tears ran down her chest to mix with their bath, her heart … broke. Broke under the grief of her lost ship, her lost family and future. Broke wide open under the tender pressure of Chakotay’s dark head, his decency and devotion. Broke, letting sorrow out … and love in. 

For the second time in three nights and in more years than she could count, she wept in the arms of another. Different from the terrified, enraged, helpless tears she had shed under the table during the storm, these were tears of letting go and letting in: grieving, accepting, healing. 

At first, she keened silently over the bent head of her lover, but soon a sob escaped her, and then another. He looked up, face flushed and streaked with his own sweat and tears, to find her with one hand over her eyes, a fist in her mouth, as she fought valiantly, uselessly, to suppress the storm within. 

=====

It came, despite Kathryn’s mightiest efforts. The tsunami tore through her in sobs, wails, gasps, and finally whimpers. He felt the moment that she gave herself over to the force of feeling, turned from resisting to expressing, making it carry her to completion, though it all but left her bleeding. 

He held her tenderly throughout and stayed silent, letting his hands convey his concern and his faith in her ability to survive this long-postponed ordeal. He stroked her hair, rubbed slow circles on her back, shifted her weight more fully onto his body when she trembled from exhaustion. 

Finally, she stilled, all but her ragged breathing, which he felt under his hand and with her face against his chest as much as he heard it. 

After a long time of this -- her breathing, him holding her, the water cooling around them -- she said in a small, defeated voice, “We’re never leaving this planet, are we?” 

He paused in his reply, but not for long. “Most likely not.” 

“Everyone we ever loved. They may as well be dead.” She sounded like a very weary child. 

His heart clenched anew for her. “Yes. It’s easier for me, I think. Most people I loved already were.” 

She rocked her face against him. He felt her grimace with another ripple of grief, and felt her compassion in her grip around his waist. “How did you go on, Chakotay?” She sounded utterly bewildered. 

_ I found you _ , he thought, but did not say again. “I lived. That's all. I just lived.” 

Silence for a time. 

Then, in a dead, exhausted voice, “It feels like giving up. Surrendering.” 

“Surrendering, yes. But not to an enemy. Just … to life.” 

This seemed to satisfy her, though he was sure they would revisit the matter again and again. Old habits of thought weren’t relinquished all at once; he knew this better than anyone. 

He shifted them around to add more hot water to the tub. Their skin was wrinkled from soaking so long. No matter. He gingerly washed her face, wetted her hair and combed it with his fingers. She let him, and peace seemed to steal over her features. 

She sat against him, cocooned in the embrace of all four of his limbs. They fed each other berries, murmuring occasionally about plans for the garden, for building a sturdier house, for passing the winter that would follow the coming summer. Sharing, for the first time, dreams of a long future together, here in this place. 

_ Control, command, surrender _ , he thought, and kissed the berry juice from her fingers. _ We'll learn a new language, beloved, new words for what we are together. _ This he promised, prayed, believed.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * <3 as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta) may be a useful resource for some. 
> 
> I reply to comments. That means you can expect me to reply to your comment, eventually and barring unforeseen circumstances. (Once in a while I miss or don't receive a notification, for example.) 
> 
> If you _don’t_ want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper.” I will appreciate it but not respond.


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